


The Wrong Side of the Tracks

by elisabeth_hollow (soul_struck)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Sexual Situations, The Railroad, Violence, swearing up a storm, synth refuge, synthetics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7482750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soul_struck/pseuds/elisabeth_hollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long after the death of her brother, Matthew, Annaleise, now known as Jet, has finally found her calling. What first began as a means to get a steady flow of caps, turns into one of the most fulfilling events of her life, one she is actually talented at.<br/>When an unseen foe threatens the stability of the synth refuge in the heart of the Commonwealth, Jet finds herself in the middle of a plot that could unravel not only her small family, but the entire Railroad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finding Grace

**Author's Note:**

> I feel silly saying this, but about a year ago, when this came out and I discovered Covenant, I got the idea to create a synth refuge. I roleplayed it a few times with a friend, and the idea just clicked with me. Once Far Harbor came out, I was embarrassed I had't written about it sooner.

Generally, as a personal rule, Jet didn’t lose her cool when someone pointed a gun at her face.

Not generally.

Not _usually._

 

But when the raider pointed his other gun at the woman next to her, she saw red.

She knew that she only had a small time to react, on a logical level, but really, the next thing she knew, she was shoving her own elbow straight into the raider’s nose, blood spraying over her arm. Jet made a face as he fell backwards. Her companion covered her mouth, a look of horror on her face.

“Ew, gross,” Jet groaned. The raider was holding his bleeding nose with both hands. She sighed and picked up a piece of paper on the ground and wiped the blood off as best as she could. 

“Disgusting.”

“What now?” The young woman ran a hand nervously through her thick, curly black hair cropped close to her scalp. Jet had given her a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt to wear, as well as an undershirt that was clean. At least, clean by Commonwealth standards. Jet pulled out her pistol.

“Someone fucked up cleaning this place out. So now I’ve gotta.”

The pop of the gun was sudden and startling. Jet grabbed the young woman’s hand and began hurriedly leading her.

“Pick a name yet?”

“Not yet. Is that important?”

The two ducked between a few alleys. “Yeah,” Jet answered. “You can wait until we get to the refuge, but think about it. We’ve got a list of names from an old pre-war baby book.”

The synth didn’t answer, and Jet didn’t look behind her to check her expression. It was getting dark quickly, and they would need to stop for food. They were near the hideout, but still too close to Bunker Hill for her liking. The outskirts of the city finally showed up, allowing them cover in an old bus with its windows blown out. The synth watched out a window while Jet made a fire.

“Is that how you chose your name?” the synth asked suddenly. Jet didn’t look up as she flicked her lighter.

“What?” she gently blew on the small wad of paper to coax a fire out of it.

“A baby book.” The sun finally slipped behind the horizon as Jet’s small fire grew. The synth, interested, walked out and crossed her arms, her skin prickling with goosebumps. “Is Jet in there?”

Jet let out a soundless laugh, more of a sharp exhale through her nose. “No. I did not pick the name Jet in a baby book. I just liked it.”

“But it’s a drug.”

“But also a type of pre-war airplane,” Jet pointed out. The synth shrugged.

“I had no idea.” she sat down across from Jet, looking at her over the fire. “If you could pick a name for me, what would it be?”

Jet chewed the inside of her cheek. Picking names wasn’t really her expertise, yet nearly every synth she escorted asked her. She cleared her throat.

“Names are personal,” she began. 

“You could just say no,” the synth leaned back a bit. 

“Then no. It’s better to pick your own.”

The rest of the night was much of the same. Jet sensed the synth wanted to ask her more questions, and usually she would be more inclined to talk. The crickets sang, lulling the synth to sleep inside the bus. Jet poked at the fire, the remnants of the snack cakes she had given to the synth melting away in the fire. She sighed and kicked dirt into the fire before heading inside the bus as well.

Two mattresses lay inside the stripped bus, the synth lying on one. Jet forced the door shut, causing the synth to sit up.

“What-”

“Shush, it’s me. The door has to be noisy, or we won’t hear it if someone tries to come inside.”

“Oh.” she didn’t lie back down. Instead, she hugged her knees to her chest and stared out the window. Jet sat on the mattress next to her.

“Rough day?”

“You ever think...you made a huge mistake?” The synth kept staring out the window. Jet’s heart dropped.

“You think this was a big mistake? Getting free?” Jet crossed her legs and faced the synth. Desdemona had very...specific instructions when it came to hysterical synths. And Jet had never gone through with the task before. She was already mapping out how far she could go with an unconscious synth over her shoulder.

“No, not getting the mind wipe.” The synth rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. Jet exhaled in relief.

“You said you wanted to remember. In case they found you. It was important to only have one mind wipe, or something.”

The synth chuckled a bit, it sounding similar to the sharp exhale she had heard Jet do earlier. “Yeah. Do you know what is unnerving? I can’t ever be sure that I’ve never had a mind wipe before.”

“What do you mean?” Jet popped her knuckles. “Does that happen a lot?”

The synth’s brow creased, though Jet couldn’t see it in the darkness. “More often than they should. If you question them, mind wipe. If you miss a scheduled chore, mind wipe. If you show any type of curiosity, mind wipe.” she shuddered. “I sometimes wonder if…” she trailed off. Jet shifted uncomfortably.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Jet could see a barely-visible outline of a hand waving her away. “I’m fine. I got lost in thought. We should sleep.”

“Yeah, good idea.” the two of them laid down. It was silent, except for the crickets still singing. One perched right outside one of the windows and sang Jet to sleep. The synth stayed awake.

\---

“Is your hair naturally that color?” The synth asked Jet. It was noon, and the sun beat down on them. Jet’s skin was pink, but the synth only seemed to be bothered by the brightness. “It’s an unnaturally bright shade of red.”

“It’s real,” Jet said. She drank water out of her canister. “You’ve never seen red hair before?”

“I have, but not that shade. It’s vibrant. It’s lovely.”

“Oh, well thanks.”

“Why not choose the name Red as a code name?”

Jet laughed. “Taken. Besides, it’s easier to break into mercenary groups with a name like Jet.”

“One of the doctors in the Institute discovered how to dye hair different colors. It’s why I asked.”

“Stuff like that is pretty rare,” Jet snorted. “You can find pre-war dye kits, but they’re all dried up. Most of us out here keep our hair short or shave it.”

“Yours is very short.”

Jet touched her short hair. “Yeah, it is. Easier to wear a helmet. Also not much to grab.” A gust of wind cooled Jet’s skin. She wished dearly she had brought a hat, cursing her short-sightedness. The sounds of a pipe pistol drew their attention south.

“Keep going. I have to get you there first.” Jet walked on with her.

The breeze turned into a gust of wind, which kicked up dust. Jet pulled a bandana over her mouth and nose. She reached into her pocket and handed another one, colored red, to the synth. The two of them pressed on.

Sunshine Tiding’s Co-op was little more than two barns and several run down houses when Jet discovered it. Or, as she called it, “a country-fried shithole.” Jet had no idea what the term “country friend” meant, but she loved dropping it into insults as often as she could. Desdemona had been thrilled at her idea for a training place of sorts for synths to learn skills that could help them survive the Wasteland. While a good number of synths opted for the mind wipe, and a personality uploaded into them, the few that decided against the mind wipe needed to learn skills. And learn skills they did.

“Wow,” the synth breathed as she took the site in. Jet’s chest swelled with pride.

“Not bad, right?”

“Way better than what we’ve come across.”

Jet deflated a little. “Ouch. Wanna meet everyone?”

“Sure. _Oh!_ ” She cringed when gunshots began firing nearby. Jet touched her shoulder.

“Practice range. You’re fine. The turrets you saw? Those should take care of anyone who might try to hurt us.”

“Okay, well...let’s go.” The synth followed Jet further in. the entrance was guarded by two guards on either side of the door, elevated to be level with the walls, which were about eight to ten feet high and made of whatever junk they could find, and propped up to form a wall. An old silo had been made into a guard post, complete with a basket that could be brought up and down via a pulley system for snacks and beverages.

Along the edges, several houses that had obviously been badly damaged, were clumsily repainted after being fixed with mismatching planks of wood. The two barns in the center were brightly lit, the smell of cooking meat wafting from the larger one. Crops grew towards the back of the place, where a second exit was guarded. The sound of gunfire was coming from the second exit.

Jet walked inside the barn, the doors wide open for the day.

“Lottie?” she called out to a figure in a mechanic suit, wearing biker’s goggles, their dirty blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. “What do molerats eat when they go camping?”

The woman, presumably Lottie, rubbed her dirty hands on her suit, leaving grease marks on a not-so-pristine suit. She stood up and wiped sweat off of her forehead, giving herself a small grease smudge.

“Molerats don’t camp. Is this the new one?” She asked. Jet sighed.

“The correct answer is ‘marsh-mole-ows,’ and yep, this is her. Uh...we haven’t picked a name yet.”

Lottie grabbed a baby book from a nearby table, cluttered with various tools, and handed it to the synth.

“Flip through. Some of us go through several names. Most of us like to find a meaning we like, then find a name that fits.”

“How did you choose yours?” the synth asked. Jet chuckled.

“Good luck getting _that_ story out of her. She hasn’t told anyone yet.”

“I’m a very private person,” Lottie said, unconcerned. She sat down at a nearby terminal and began typing. 

“Alright, time to get a file started. We can veto the name for now, and call you New Patient for now.”

“Patient?” the synth looked speculative. “You’re aware that gen 3 synths use doctors for humans, right? Not...mechanics?”

Jet laughed, and Lottie sighed. “The mechanic is a side job," Lottie replied. "I am a doctor. Brain surgeon, to be exact.”

“Brain surgeon? But how-”

“We’ve tried,” Jet cut her off. “Doesn’t work. Just sit and let her do her thing. I’ll come back later to see what name you picked. Dinner is around seven.” She stopped herself two steps from in from walking. “Oh, and if you can get her to laugh, I’ll buy you a case of Nuka Colas.”

Jet turned around and headed towards the larger barn, passing a few familiar faces. Despite being the only human in the settlement, she felt at home. She enjoyed helping people find themselves in things that were actually useful, not just shipping them off with false memories and assumed skills. She wondered if the synths with farming memories actually knew how to farm, or if they stared at a rake or hoe in frustration. She wondered if anyone kept tabs on them. At least this way, she would know for certain that they weren’t helpless.

The cook greeted her, a slight man in his early twenties named, un-ironically, Cooke. Every synth she helped was in their early twenties. As far as she knew, synths weren’t going to change their ages soon. Not many reached the age where it started mattering, though. Unless there was a refuge of youthful synths or synths that eventually moved on when people started asking them what their secret to youthfulness was.

Dinner was pleasant enough, but Jet wanted to get in line for a bath before it was too late. Soap was scarce, but over the two hundred years, the art of soap-making had made a reappearance. One synth had been passing his knowledge down from what he gleaned in the BioScience department. Jet didn’t understand the logistics(something about ashes and lye) but appreciated the earthy-smelling soap his knowledge had gained them.

The bathing area was far from the small pond where they got their water from, and the water was chilly, which caused Jet to begin scrubbing immediately. Once she was finished, she took a moment to allow herself to relax, despite the night air cooling. When she was finished, she put her clean clothes, the same worn pair of denim pants most people wore, sneakers, and a flannel shirt. Inside the walls, there wasn’t much cause for guns, so she had set hers inside the house she shared with another person.

“Hey, Jet!” Lottie called out, waving her over. Jet jogged over.

“What’s up?”

“I picked a name,” the synth said from a chair nearby. “Grace.”

“Grace, huh?” Jet nodded slowly, approval on her face. “I like it.”

“That’s not why I called you over,” Lottie looked serious. “I courier just came with this.” She handed Jet a hand-written letter.

Jet sighed and opened it. “What is this? Another delivery? I just got back!”

“I didn’t read it. Does it have a time?”

She sighed. “Two days, but it’s not the usual spot.” she frowned at the letter. “It would only take me half a day to get there. Hmmm…”

Lottie’s stern expression grew slightly concerned. “Do you think it’s an enemy?”

“I’d rather not discuss it right now. I better get some sleep. Goodnight, Grace.”

“Good night!”

Jet slid between the mattress and the comforter, propping the pillow up with her arm. An unsigned note at a dead drop that has never been used by her before was a warning sign. But who would target her? Possibly no one. She would find out in two days, she supposed.

Crickets chirped nearby, the familiar sound lulling her to sleep.


	2. Survival, part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs to learn skills to survive the Wasteland. Sometimes that means being sneaky.

Out of the fifteen synths that lived at the refuge, she didn’t expect Grace to be the one to wake her up. Usually Lottie took care of assigning new synths different tasks, but Grace said Lottie seemed too grouchy to deal with anyone this morning. That only made Jet laugh.

“That is Lottie’s basic demeanor,” she said, her shoulders popping as she stood up and stretched. She let out a relieved groan. “She’s been around long before since I’ve been here. Desdemona seems to trust her, so…” Jet shrugged. 

“Oh. How long have you been in the railroad?”

“Well, hold on a second, we need to eat first,” Jet chuckled. “How did you sleep?’

“The bed is dirty, and the mattress is worn.”

“That’s...the surface. So, badly?”

“I wasn’t woken up to perform some arbitrary tasks for a scientist’s amusement, so it was strange sleeping through the night with no interruptions.”

“Good. The first few nights are usually the worst. You’ll get used to the sounds of crickets, and the occasional gunshot. It’s usually bugs.”

Grace looked relieved, and Jet saw her shoulders relax for the first time since she picked her up. She gently patted her arm.

“You’ll do great. Today we get to see what type of skill you might like. Any ideas?”

“I was mostly maintenance. Some synths were used to test viruses and antidotes. I’m glad that wasn’t me.”

“I’ve heard. Come on. So, you’ll probably have a hard time getting used to the food here, but Cooke has really got some good ideas.”

“Nutritional paste is nutritional paste to me,” Grace shrugged. 

“Ha, no, we...don’t eat any paste you come across out here. You’ll thank me.”

Cooke greeted them with a nod and a smile. “Morning!”

“Morning, Cooke! Whatcha got for us?”

“Scrambled mirelurk eggs with a side of toast. We have mutfruit jelly and tarberry jam.”

“Oooh!” Jet looked eager as she made herself and Grace a plate. Grace looked less than thrilled.

“What exactly is this?” her nose wrinkled a bit at the sight of the eggs on her plate.

“It’s food,” Cooke said. “Which I thank God, or Atom, or who-the-fuck-ever for every day.”

“Adam? Who’s Adam?” Grace asked. Jet cut her eyes at Cooke.

“You’re giving me more work, you ass.”

“Eat your damn food, you whiner,” Cooke chuckled and pointed a spatula at Jet. “She’s gotta learn sometime. Better now than being recruited by those nutcases.”

Jet rolled her eyes and turned back to Grace. “A-t-o-m, not Adam. It’s the deity the Children of Atom worship. It’s basically them worshiping the radiation. It’s probably more...I don’t know complicated than that, but that’s all I really care to know.”

Grace looked horrified. “Radiation kills and injures. Why would you worship that?”

“You got me there. Are you gonna eat?”

Grace hesitated, then speared a clump of egg with her fork. She paused briefly before placing it delicately in her mouth and chewed. Her mouth pulled into a frown, and one eye closed as she tested the texture.

“It’s different, I know,” Cooke said, a sympathetic look on his face. “But you get used to it. Try the toast with jam, it’s better.”

“I don’t know what you people have a problem with,” Jet said, shoveling egg into her mouth. “This shit is delicious,” a bit of food fell out of her mouth. She washed it down with some purified water as Grace and Cooke stared at her. She belched.

“You two better stop staring before I give you something to stare at.”

“I wish you would,” Cooke teased. Jet threw a piece of toast at him, and he let it bounce off his shoulder as he chuckled.

“Eat your damn food, you child. I have more people to cook for.” He turned around and kept cooking. Jet smirked and turned to Grace, who was tentatively placing the toast, smeared sloppily with tarberry jam, into her mouth. Judging by the look on her face, the jam was favorable to the eggs.

After(a slowly eaten) breakfast, Jet took Grace to the shooting range. A tall, dark-skinned man wearing a well-worn set of military fatigues, open to show a dirty undershirt, sat on a chair, cleaning a small gun. He looked up when they got close and gave them a wide grin.

“Jet, you’re back!”

“Hey, Cannon! This is our newest friend, Grace.” she motioned towards Grace. “I’m showing her around.”

“Tell me, Grace, have you ever held a gun before?”

“No sir.”

“Aw, you don’t have to call me sir. We’re all equal around here.” He flashed a charming smile, and Jet rolled her eyes and cleared her throat.

“Okay, well, why don’t we get right to the lesson?”

“Wait,” Grace protested. “I thought we were going to see everything?”

“We all learn to defend ourselves,” Jet said. “Even if it’s just learning how to load, point, and shoot.”

“Oh. I mean, that’s fine with me, but…” Grace hesitated. “Things seem limited here. I don’t want to waste any ammunition.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Cannon assured, putting an arm around her. “We’ll be fine.”

Grace relaxed a little, but still seemed unsure. Cannon seemed to notice.

“Hey,” he turned toward her. “How about this? Whisper is in charge of the stealth stuff. He could teach you how to use your hands and other instruments to defend yourself. Does that sound better?”

Grace perked up. “Actually...that does sound better. Is he around?”

Cannon turned his head to look around. “Yeah, somewhere. I’ll find him.”

“We’ll look around some more,” Jet said, guiding Grace by the shoulders back behind the settlement walls. “Sorry, but I know where Whisper is, and he knows you don’t know. Whisper is on a job, and isn’t here. He would have tried to get you to help him look to waste your time. He thinks he’s funny.”

“Oh,” Grace said, looking back at Cannon cleaning the gun. “Maybe I’ll go talk to him later.”

“Oh, a crush already?” Jet waggled her eyebrows. “He’s good looking, but not my type.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I just mean...he’s sort of...in a relationship already. I’m not into people who are taken. With explicit guidelines to not be with alone else.”

“Huh?”

“Monogamous relationships. He’s in a monogamous relationship.”

“Oh. Good for him!” Grace nodded. Jet snorted.

“You’re a good sport. Anyways, next stop is cooking.”

Grace halted. “Why?”

Jet stopped and turned to face her. “Were they not clear on what we do here?”

“No, they were, it’s just-”

“We teach you skills you need to survive, and some are mandatory. Defense, salvaging, and feeding yourself. No questions asked.”

“But the food is disgusting!”

“That doesn’t mean you’ll never need to eat again. Plus, not everyone likes eggs. Cooke will teach you how to make other things besides eggs.”

“Like what?”

“Oh wow, you want me to name it right now? Uh, okay, off the top of my head, vegetable soup, deathclaw steak, brahmin steak, shepherd’s pie, uh, even make some drinks with tarberry and mutfruit juice. Pastries, nuka cola cake…”

Grace sighed. “Fine I suppose.” she reluctantly followed.

Cooke seemed to be ready for them. “Welcome to Cooke’s restaurant. Learning to feed yourself is very important. From starches to seasonings-”

“Jet?” a Latino man with his hair slicked back came up behind them and poked his head in the door. “A word?”

“Oh, sure. Sorry, keep going,” she said to Cooke, who looked annoyed.

“Fine, miss the spaghetti with radstag meatballs, I don’t care,” he waved them away as they walked outside.

“He’s got a whole spiel going, huh?” She joked when she closed the door. The man looked serious.

“Okay, what’s wrong, Whisper? I thought you were on a job?”

“I was. Then I came across something disturbing.” He pulled out a blood-soaked letter and handed it to her. Jet read it, her frown deepening.

“This is one of our dead drops. I real secure one. Who did you find it on?”

“Not an agent, I’m afraid,” Whisper’s thick brows knit together. “A gunner tried to get the jump on me. He didn’t count on me using the buildings to get the drop on him.”

“Did you just make a pun?” Jet half-heartedly smiled. “Because if so, it was bad.”

“I did not, but I’ll be sure to tell Cannon is was intentional.”

“He’ll love that.

“Because I literally dropped from-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Jesus.” she exhaled slowly. “ I don’t recognize this writing. It ain’t Desdemona’s or Deacon’s. What are you thinking?”

“Not sure. Maybe someone figured out something was going on, but hasn’t figured out what just yet.”

“Maybe. It also makes me want to double check this dead drop I got.” she pulled the letter from her pocket. Whisper took it from her and studied it.

“Where did you get this?”

“Courier delivered it right as I got back.”

Whisper frowned. “No signature. Our contacts are required to put an initial, or at least a code name. Someone delivered it here? To this place?”

“Yeah.”

“Then our position is compromised. At the most, they know this is a synth refuge. At the least, they know you’re an agent.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We meet them tomorrow, and set up a trap of our own.” Whisper smirked.

“This is _so_ much better than eggs!” Grace declared from inside the barn.


	3. The Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet and Whisper lay their own trap for the interlopers.

By all accounts, they should have gotten the girl. His men were in place, and she showed up alone, as suspected. The bomb in the mailbox was to be set off as soon as she got close enough, but not to kill. He didn’t know who these people were, but they had pissed off a seriously intimidating man.

The dead drop was located in a small alley, easily accessible, and easy to trap. Two store fronts were cleared enough for him to hide a man inside each, and him and the other man on the roof opposite of him would come out. The mailbox was just in case, really.

Frank wasn’t hired by the Gunners because of his looks.

When the girl walked into the alley, he could see even from high up she was expecting something. His suspicion was solidified when she didn’t look startled at his whistle, merely looked up, her hand poised to draw her ten mil.

The sharp whistle produced the two men on the ground, but the man on the other rooftop was nowhere to be found. The girl looked from the two men to him.

“Looks like someone is taking a nap!”

She sounded cocky. Fuck, Frank hated that. He realized there weren’t any orders to leave her unharmed.

“Shoot her leg,” he ordered his men as he turned to climbed down. In half a second, he found himself leaning back over the side of the building, his gun falling to the ground below. What was staring him in the face could be described as human, but with an empty look in its eyes. Not coldness, not anger, not even a grim expression. Just…

Nothing.

Frank pissed himself. The man, if it could be called a man, spoke.

“Who hired you?” No inflection no threat, just...a question. As if the thing were asking him his favorite fucking Nuka Cola flavor. It-or he-patiently waited as Frank stammered.

“I d-don’t, I mean, we don’t get, we don’t-” he shrieked as he fell back two inches. The man’s face never changed.

“Who hired you?”

Things were going on down below, but Frank couldn’t spare any brain power to understand the sounds. All of his focus was to keep this man from splattering him all over the alley. Or make his insides soup. He heard the organs and bones liquidize on impact if-

There was a rip. His goddamned jacket was falling apart, and this asshole looked like he was watching paint dry. Frank clung to the man’s arm.

“Don’t drop me! Please, I’ll tell you anything!”

“You’re taking a very long time to answer a simple question.” Did this guy never blink? Frank told himself to focus.

“If I tell you what I know, you have to let me go!”

“Alright.”

“You get this asshole to talk?” The girl asked, breathless as she climbed up the fire escape and jogged to their position. She crossed her arms, an ugly, smug look on her face.

“No fucking way. I know this guy.”

“He and I were about to get well acquainted,” the man said. Frank couldn’t decide if he was angry at her attitude, or terrified at his predicament. He settled on angry.

“Yeah, I know you, bitch,” he snapped. “You’re a goddamned cheater! You probably pissed someone off so bad, they hired us to- _augh!!_ ” he screamed as the man smoothly leaned him back, nearly flat over the edge. He showed no signs of straining. The girl’s smug expression disappeared, replaced with concern.

“Hey, Whisper, we need for him to talk. He can’t if he has a heart attack.”

“Then he better watch his words when he’s addressing you.” same casual tone. Frank knew he was going to die.

“Let me up, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I swear!”

“Jesus, let him up,” the girl said. The man she called Whisper obliged. Frank’s pants were cooled by then, the wetness of his own urine making him uncomfortable. He let out a ragged breath.

“Jesus Christ on a stick,” he gasped. He bent in half, put his hands on his knees, and promptly fainted. 

*****************

Jet pursed her lips into a thin line, a half amused look on her face.

“I think you over-did it with the Courser routine.”

“Coursers weren’t meant to leave anyone alive. I did exactly what my training dictated.”

“That,” Jet wagged a finger at him, “may be the problem. Question, though. How did you get from one building to the next so damn fast?”

“I jumped.” he lifted the man easily. Jet nodded.

“Of course you fucking did. That makes a hundred percent, all of the sense. Shit.” She rubbed her hands over her face and groaned. “So now what? I wasn’t counting on this fucker to faint on us.” she followed behind Whisper.

“Did he piss himself?” she wrinkled her nose.

“It’s much less pleasant from my point of view,” he started down the fire escape.

“No one made you toss him over your shoulder like that,” she pointed out. “Seriously, what’s the plan?”

“Interrogation.”

The store fronts were cleared out enough to make a small interrogation room. Normally, HQ would handle interrogation by sending Whisper or another member with his demeanor to do it. But since no one at HQ knew about this yet, they would have to make do. Whisper set Frank down against the counter, making sure his airway was clear. Jet leaned back against a wall and crossed her arms.

“Are we gonna leave him alive?” she asked in a low voice. For once, Whisper’s expressionless face broke, and he raised a brow.

“You want to.” It wasn’t a question, and Jet knew it. She sighed.

“Look, I know how things work. Loose ends, and all that. But I’ve seen this guy around. If it was some random guy I’ve never seen before, it wouldn’t be so bad. But I saw him even before I became an agent.”

“Interesting. And what will you do it whoever hired him kills him?”

“I…” she sighed and leaned her head back against the wall. “I don’t know, Jesus! Can you just make this quick? I don’t want him to see it coming, okay?”

“Would you like to wait outside? Keep watch?”

She sighed and went outside, closing the door carefully, her face pink from-what? Anger? Embarrassment? Guilt? She couldn’t place the feeling in her throat. Instead, she leaned against the building and fished for a cigarette and her lighter.

The smell of tobacco calmed her as she lit her cigarette, inhaling deeply. The sun beat down, causing sweat to beat on her face. She sighed and took another drag. As she sat on a nearby bench.

She heard the cawing of a crow to her left and turned her head. She smiled as she recognized the bird, a red stripe down its beak, perched on a sign across from her.

“Hey, Beatrice,” she tapped the edge of the bench. “Come see me.”

Beatrice flew down and perched on the bench. Jet grabbed some bread and tore it into pieces, handing it to the bird piece by piece. She sighed.

“I hate killing people,” she said to Beatrice. “I mean, everyone has their own hopes and dreams. Even if it’s just survival. But the guy in there is a gunner. They’re assholes. So it’s okay, right?”

Beatrice cocked her head and blinked at Jet, who sighed.

“I know Alayna says you can understand people, but sometimes I wonder. I guess you’re out scouting for Super Mutants?”

Beatrice only blinked and cocked her head in what Jet interpreted as curiosity. Jet shrugged.

“Whatever. I fed you when you were a baby. I know you can understand me.” she leaned back and stared at the door. No noises were coming out.

“I hate this. I can’t let him just kill the guy.” She leaned forward to stand up, but paused when a loud _POP!_ came from the store. She sighed and leaned back, a rock in her stomach.

“Fuck,” she said under her breath. “I hope those weren’t really his kids in Goodneighbor.”


	4. Strange Walk Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walk back to the settlement was anything but comfortable.

The air between Whisper and Jet had a strange feeling between them. Jet kept her eyes downward, while Whisper scanned the horizon, like normal. He had noticed Jet’s uncommonly shocked expression when he came out, and did not say a word, simply nodded, then began walking. After an hour of silence, he finally spoke.

“I have done something wrong.” Again, it wasn’t a question. Jet had to admit, he was astute and straightforward. The Institute must be kicking themselves about losing him. Or not, since he defected.

“Not wrong, exactly.” She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling uncomfortable. While he was straightforward, she had issues with saying anything without fifteen layers of snark and sarcasm. “It just bothers me that I knew him.”

“You’ve killed people you’ve known before. Haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

“Does it get easier?”

“Easier?” Whisper sounded slightly puzzled at the question. “That has never crossed my mind.”

“Never? Didn’t you leave because it was hard hunting your siblings down?” she finally looked up at him. He shook his head.

“Most assume that.” he sounded casual. Jet, like Frank, but without it being addled by fear, was irritated with his tone. But she couldn’t fault him for that. Cannon said all Coursers sound flat. Whisper continued.

“I left the Institute because I realized that while they assumed they were the only chance for saving humanity, they weren’t giving humanity a choice. They were forcing it. Despite Father’s insistence that everything was below ground, in secret, he did not realize that a gentle, guiding hand can be abusive and untrustworthy to the one being guided.”

“So...you don’t think it was fair?”

“I suppose not. The Institute does not see a machine it gave flesh, feelings, desires, and dreams as human. It barely sees the people up here as human. To the Institute, everyone is a prop or an experiment. And while that aligns with the Institute’s goals, it does not align with mine. Humanity had its chance two hundred years ago. Let it be.”

“I wouldn’t mind the Institute so much if it wouldn’t treat you guys so badly. From what I’ve gathered, they don’t even let synths so anything but mundane chores?”

“Yes, cleaning, cooking, even catching synths on the surface. They don’t even trust the computers to run diagnostics. They run them in their heads.”

“Sounds like a headache.”

“Perhaps for you.”

“Wow, okay, this heart to heart is over.”

“Your fists are clenching. Was that offensive?”

“Just a little bit!” Jet put more volume than she meant to. Her voice echoed over the cars they were walking past. Whisper touched her shoulder, and she stopped, sighing as she turned to face him.

“What?” she snapped. “Damnit, that wasn’t supposed to come out so mean. What?” she asked in a calmer voice.

“Nothing. We should keep walking.” he turned and began walking. Jet sighed and followed behind him.

\---

The rest of the walk was silent and, Jet felt, thirty times more awkward. By the time they reached the settlement, she was ready to apologize. Whisper had other things in mind as he headed straight for the house he and Cannon shared. She felt her stomach growl for the first time that day, and headed to this kitchen.

Grace was standing over Cooke, who was cleaning out the stove. Grace was firing off questions at an astounding speed, and Cooke, though he usually had a rough demeanor, seemed pleased at the attention.

“Does it matter what type of wood you have to make the ash?” Grace asked.

“Yes,” Cooke answered just as quickly. “Only hardwoods. Oak is the most abundant. The pine wouldn’t work.”

“And you can make soap from it?”

“It also keeps bugs from the garden and makes the tatos extra wonderful. Time for the bucket.”

Grace handed him the bucket. “Who would teach me about making soap?”

“Everyone here knows how to make soap, dear. You could ask anyone.” he scooped the ashes into the bucket, then sneezed, bumping his head. When he came back out, his face was grey with the ash. He sneezed again, a cloud of ash erupting from the bucket. Jet laughed loudly, clapping.

“Bravo!” she cackled. “Cooke the Dragon makes an appearance! Oh, I needed that.” she kept giggling as she sat down. Cooke ignored her.

“Take this to the garden,” he instructed Grace. “Give it to Earnest. He should be planting new tato plants, and he’ll show you how to make compost with it tomorrow.”

He turned to Jet when Grace had left. “How did the dead drop go? I gather from the blood, you ran into some trouble?” he busied himself with some bread and some tarberry spread. 

“Trouble is a light way of putting it,” she let out a nervous chuckle. Cooke sat down and slid a plate of tarberry toast over to her. She began eating, talking between bites.

“It was a trap. Some Gunners were waiting for us. Whisper managed to get some info out of the leader, but…” she trailed off. Cooke raised a brow.

“But what?”

“You knew him, right? When he was a Courser?”

“Nearly shit myself when he strolled in here, but yeah, I did. Cannon and I both. What did he do?”

“He’s the only Courser I’ve come across, so I’ve gotta ask, are they all like that?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Just...completely okay with killing?”

“In short? Yes. They were literally made to kill and track. You knew this. What’s really wrong?”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m not really sure.”

“Maybe you should go see Lottie?” Cooke swept a bit of bright red hair from his face. “You seem a little green.”

“I think I will. Thanks for trying, Cooke.” she left the plate there and walked towards the smaller barn. She paused when she heard Lottie talking, and stood right outside the open door, listening.

“You know you don’t have to wait for someone to tell you when you eat and sleep, right?”

There was a sigh. “It’s hard to get used to,” Grace’s voice said. “Every single point of my life, I’ve and someone tell me what I’m supposed to do, and when. Without it, I feel a little lost.”

There was a small pause. “Why don’t we add a morning bell for waking, a lunchtime bell, and a dinner bell?” Jet had never heard Lottie’s voice so gentle.

“That would be nice,” Grace sounded excited. Jet smiled to herself. _What a nice thing Lottie is doing,_ she thought. Lottie chuckled.

“I think Cooke would appreciate a stricter schedule anyways. Why don’t you head to bed?”

Jet watched Grace leave, the synth never seeing her as she passed by. After lingering by the door a moment longer, Jet’s shoulders sagged a bit and went to her house. Her roommate was already sleeping. The next house over, she could hear the muffled sounds of Whisper and Cannon celebrating privately. She would have to ask Cannon how they got together. She was sure it was an interesting story.


	5. Fumbling Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet approaches Cannon about Whisper's tactics before getting an unexpected visitor.

Jet stopped by the shooting range after breakfast, passing a filthy Grace, who was covered in ash and dirt in the garden. Some tato plants, Jet mused, will never recover. She shot a teasing remark at Earnest the gardener about the askew plants before quickly jogging towards Cannon. The man was wearing his usual attire, but clean. Jet remembered laundry day was yesterday, and made a face. She then waved at Cannon.

“Hey! Have a minute to talk?”

“Always, for you, Red.” The large man sat down next to her in a folding chair. “What’s going on?”

Jet ran her hand through her hair, elbows resting on her knees. “I got freaked out yesterday.”

“Whisper told me.”

“Fuck, he said something?” she cringed. She wasn’t expecting him to say anything. Especially not to Cannon. “I was kind of hoping I could create a bias before he got to you,” she joked. He chuckled.

“I’ll always be biased towards him. So tell me what happened. From your perspective.”

“Well…” she took a deep breath. “Once I got up to the roof after killing the other two, I just...I don’t know. The way he looked.”

“The way he looked?”

“He didn’t look different, is what I’m saying. It was like we were discussing our favorite color, or was asking the guy for a smoke. It spooked me, is all.”

“That’s all?” Cannon raised a thick, dark brow. “I’ve seen him in action. I know it’s terrifying on the receiving end. But this goes deeper. You’ve seen him fight before.”

“I’ve never seen him interrogate someone I knew, though.” she rubbed her arms uncomfortably. “I just...I couldn’t see any remorse though. I felt bad, knowing we were gonna kill someone I knew who had a family. I can’t be sure he does, though.”

“And that’s what bothers you? You don’t think Whisper feels remorse?”

“Are Coursers even capable?” she blurted out. Cannon’s face hardened.

“Yes, Jet.”

“God, I’m s-” her mouth clammed up, and she put her face in her hands. She let out a muffled, frustrated groan that lasted about fifteen seconds.

“That came out wrong!”

She heard Cannon sigh. “I think that came out exactly like you meant it. But more blunt.”

“He dangled a man over the side of a building, made him piss himself, and didn’t even frown.”

“Coursers were trained like that. Trust me, getting him to show emotion is a pain in the ass. It’s been a couple of years for him. Getting him to be alright with showing emotion is going to take a while. And sometimes we default back to our programming in uncomfortable situations. You know this. Why does this bother you so much?”

“Because I knew him, okay? I knew that guy! And I wanted Whisper to be as upset as I was, and he wasn’t! I couldn’t even ask him what he had said, I was so upset!”

Cannon sighed and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I understand. I really do,” he began. “But you need to understand this first. Synths do not have the same life experience as you. We’re born as adults, treated like working infants, and used like objects. You...can’t begin to understand.”

Guilt sat hot in Jet’s throat. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “You can explain it to me, if you want.”

“I think you should come back later.” he stood up and walked to the table facing the targets. Her shoulders slumped, and she walked back to her house. Her roommate, a plain young woman who chose the name Amelia, nodded at her as she walked in.

“Ernest was looking for you,” she said, lounging on her bed. Several paintings, mostly done on old notebook paper, littered her wall. Most were of landscapes with impossible greenery with impeccable detail. Some were portraits of the synths that had passed through. “He said he wants you to help making the lye today.”

“Gloria is supposed to help.”

“Nope, it’s Wednesday, and you skipped last week. Double duty,” she grinned. Jet groaned.

“Disgusting.”

“He also wants to bring in someone who knows how to tan fur. I didn’t know you could darken fur.”

“No, sweetie, tan fur, as in making a pelt. For rugs and clothes. Who does he want to bring in?”

“Some caravan guy who promised to share his secrets. Dez approved it already. So did Lottie.”

“Ew, fine.”

“Ew?” Amelia looked confused. 

“Well, you’re peeling an animal’s skin off.”

Amelia looked horrified, and Jet smirked. “Exactly. I guess I’ll go help with the lye now. Dangerous chemicals are always fun to work around.” she turned to walk out the door, then paused.

“Hey, Amelia.”

“Yeah?”

“Were you programmed with that talent?” she pointed to the wall. Amelia laughed.

“If I were, don’t tell the other synths. They’ll wonder why I can do it, but they can’t.”

Jet chuckled quietly and walked to the lye-making area. There were several wooden barrels and plastic buckets for draining and straining the lye, and the soap-making area was a few feet away from that. Jet begrudgingly grabbed several buckets and helped Ernest mix the ash and water. She paused and stood up straight, wiping her hand over her brow.

“Hey stranger,” a lilting voice said from behind her, causing her to jump. Jet whirled and hugged the dark-haired woman behind her.

“Alayna! How did you know I needed to see you?”

“Beatrice is a loudmouth, and a terrible secret keeper,” Alayna smiled broadly. Jet felt the tightness in her chest melting away.

“She can still say my name?”

“Yeah, she can.” Alayna walked with her. “Jesus, you stink.”

“Yeah, well, sweat and lye smell amazing. Beatrice didn’t say my name when I saw her. Is she mad at me?”

“I think maybe that it’s just been a while. Crows have great memories, but it’s been a year or so since you’ve seen her.”

Jet sat on the steps of her house with Alayna. “A year? Wow. I hadn’t realized…” The tight feeling in her chest was back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I know you’re busy, training helpless settlers to become better settlers.” Alayna chuckled, looking at the overcast sky. “Which is nice. I just miss having you around.”

“You wouldn’t like me. I’m actually fully capable of speech and don’t shit wherever I sit.”

Alayna snorted. “Of, you’re housebroken now? Finally!” she laughed, rubbing the spot on her arm that Jet playfully punched. She cleared her throat.

“So...when are you coming back?”

Jet rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m...not sure. I’ve got a new settler to train, and boy, is she green. She’s never made soap before.”

“And what is her story? Amnesia? Spoiled girl from Diamond City?”

“Yeah, that last one actually. She’s been a good sport. Really excited about the food,” she chuckled.

“What’s bothering you? Was it me asking you to come back?”

Jet sighed and shook her head. “No, no. It wasn’t that. I just...don’t feel like I belong here.”

“You don’t,” Alayna said flatly. “Don’t give me that look. You know it’s true. These people were helpless. You’re not. You basically raised yourself after your parents and Matthew died. First in that hellhole people called D.C., then you brought your happy ass all the way here and you’re still taking care of yourself. But now you’ve got a bunch of babysitting jobs, too. It’s just not fair to you, Jet.”

“So, I just...come back home? Just like that?”

“It’s an option.” Alayna put a hand on Jet’s arm. “I miss you.”

Jet sighed and rubbed her neck again. “I miss you too. But I’ve got responsibilities here.”

Alayna crossed her arms loosely over her stomach. I understand. Just visit more, okay? I’m not even far.”

“Yeah, but all of those stairs are annoying,” Jet smirked. Alayna rolled her eyes.

“Come home soon. Please?” she leaned over and kissed Jet’s cheek gently before getting up. Jet watched her walk away, a crow gliding down from one of the barns to perch on Alayna’s shoulder.

Jet sighed when she was out of sight, rubbing the back of her neck. Boy, had she fucked up a lot of things.


	6. Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster strikes after Whisper delivers Desdemona's orders.

When Jet went to meet whisper in Lottie’s shop, she noticed that a Heavy she had never seen before was with him. He introduced himself as Gunner, then insisted that was his real name. Lottie cut the conversation short.

“News, Whisper. What did Desdemona say?”

“Desdemona wants us to fortify and forego dead drops,” he replied. “At least until this is sorted out.”

“What will the synths do until then?” Jet asked.

“Stay put,” Lottie said. “They have no choice.” she wiped her greasy hand on her jumpsuit. “I can have the turrets checked before sunset. Cynthia and Harold can help fortify the place. Whisper, you and Jet can scout the area around, see if there’s any sign of someone coming.”

“I can help with the turrets,” Gunner offered. Lottie sighed and waved him over. Jet turned and opened her mouth, but Whisper cut her off.

“Apology accepted.”

“How did you-”

“Your nails on your left hand are significantly shorter than when I left.”

“Oh,” she looked at her left hand. Her nails were shorter. “I didn’t realize-”

 

“I also visited Cannon before coming over.”

“You asshole, you’re teasing me!”

“Well, humor is one of the many great human experiences, is it not? A machine cannot produce its own comedic timing.”

“Especially if you’re a Mister Handy.”

“The jokes they tell are atrocious,” he agreed. Jet rubbed the back of her neck.

“So...we’re good?”

“Of course. Forgiveness is also a human experience.”

“What I said was fucked up.”

“It’s also understandable. You have no point of reference, whereas Cannon and I, we do. If you do better, we can continue being friends.”

Jet blinked. “We’re friends?”

“Yes.”

“Even after the fucked up shit I said?”

“Yes. As long as you don’t question my ability to form relationships, we will continue to be good, as you say.” He even cracked a smile. Jet was floored.

“Uh, so, I guess we should go make our rounds, as you say?”

“I’ve never said that before,” he said as they walked out of Lottie’s garage. Jet was relieved the ex-Courser didn’t want to tear her spine out and make a flute out of it, though she suspected that was a Super Mutant thing and not a Courser thing. By the time they had scouted and come back, it was dinner, and also dark. Extra patrols were put up, even though nothing was spotted.

Jet found Grace, sitting next to Lottie, talking rapidly at Lottie, who didn’t seem to be listening.

“And did you know that the flour we use isn’t wheat flour, like in the old days, but a flour that is ground from tubers? Heh, isn’t that a funny word? Tubers? Some of them look really gross when peeled, but all it is is the thickest part of the root. Oh! You can make flour from acorns, too! Did you know that-”

“Kill me, please,” Lottie grumbled as Grace continued. Jet laughed.

“She doesn’t lack for excitement at least.”

“You’ll never guess how leather is made!” Grace exclaimed. “You use actual brains from the animals!” she pointed to a nearby refrigerator. “Cooke said we can even eat brain!”

“What have I done to deserve this?” Lottie groaned, dropping her fork with a sharp clang. Jet laughed again and elbowed her gently.

“You remember when you first started learning things, how exciting it was.”

“Some things I already knew,” Lottie said over Grace’s continuous chatter. “Like what spaghetti was, and how to make garlic toast.”

“What the fuck is garlic toast?”

“Considering garlic is extremely rare, I am not worried that you don’t know what it is.” Lottie paused, looking unsettled. The rest of the room did as well.

“Do you hear that?” Grace’s eyes were wide as saucers. Jet cocked her head.

“I don’t-”

She was interrupted by half a second of a whistling before the bomb hit. Bodies were thrown back, then blackness.

\---

Raspy voices, strangled by radiation and fire cried out to each other. Shots were fired, then silence. Two men, their bodies silhouetted by the burning buildings that had been so carefully crafted by the hands of synths long gone, stood over Jet. Or was they assumed had been Jet.

“This her?” One asked. The other nodded. 

“Yeah, that’s the bitch. The Immortal was wrong. She wasn’t one of us.”

“We never gave her a chance. Weren’t we supposed to dunk her in a barrel or something?”

“Eh, this is just as good. Most ghouls came from a direct blast.” He bent over and looked at the body.

“Jesus, yeah, she’s gone. That’s a nasty crack on her skull. I think I see her brains.”

“Let’s go. Nothing else could survive this.”

Their shoes crunched as they walked away, burning debris left behind. At the edge of the settlement, part of a fence creaked, still on fire, then finally fell. There were no crickets that evening.


	7. Dust and Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's approaching September rapidly, which prompts me to tell those who read but do not comment that my father died 4 years ago in September. It's a hard month for me so I may not be writing during September. Any that I do, may not be posted. I hope that my grieving has reached a point where I can safely write during this hard time, but in case it hasn't, here is the latest chapter and my apologies.

A shot of pain ripped a scream out of Jet’s mouth. She heard distant voices. After a moment, she realized she was being held down, and recognized Lottie’s voice.

“Jet,” how was her voice so patient? Did Lottie always have bedside manner? She couldn’t remember. “I need to get this out of you. It’s lodged in your chest. Grace, anyone else alive?”

“Still just Whisper and Cannon. Did Cooke make it?” Jet heard the hopefulness in her voice. A cry of pain cut off Lottie’s reply and brought more of Jet’s mind to the surface.

“Fuck!” Jet half-sobbed. “What happened?!”

“Bombs,” Lottie replied. “We’re all that’s left, besides Whisper and Cannon. How do you feel?”

“Like someone stabbed my chest. Also, like I was crushed nearly to death. We’re it?” she noticed they weren’t at the settlement. “Where are we? Are we in an old bus?”

“We’re a ways away from the ruins. We were fortunate a caravan was shipping us some supplies.” Lottie checked Jet’s wounds on her chest. “Luckily, this wasn’t deep. It took both Whisper and Cannon to lift the cabinets off of you. You’re very resilient. Do you have a stomachache?”

“I think I’m going to vomit,” Jet’s voice wobbled as tears stung her eyes. “Cooke? Where’s Cooke?”

“Outside. He bled out. I did everything I could.”

Jet’s body felt too heavy to move. “Ernest? Cecilia? Amelia? Janet? Frank? Javier?”

“We found...their bodies. Most of their...bodies…”

“I wasn’t done,” Jet said in a thick voice. “I wasn’t done.”

“Jet-”

“I wasn’t done!” she sat up, ignoring the jarring of her wound. “I wasn’t done!”

“Done with what?” Lottie asked. Grace came inside, looking worried.

“Lottie?” her nervous tone matched her expression. “Is she okay?”

“I just informed her of the casualty rate.”

“I wasn’t done!” Jet snapped. “I had plans! I was going to stay longer! I didn’t want THIS to happen!”

“You’re in shock. Eleven of your friends just died.”

“I know what fuckin happened, Lottie! I was there! I heard the whistle! And I heard these two fuckers talking about some Immortal Asshole and how I was dead! And now I’m in Hell!”

“Then you’re stuck with me here, and I need you to take deep breaths.”

“Stop being so goddamn patient, I’m going to hit you!”

“Jet-”

Jet yanked her arm back and swung her legs off the seat, stumbling past Lottie. She ignored the breeze on her bare chest as she lurched out of the bus, pushing Grace out of the way. It was a clear day, the sun shining brightly. It was wrong, and the world was hateful. An enraged wail erupted from her lungs.

“I wasn’t done!” she screamed at the sky. “I didn’t mean destroy it!”

“Jet, what are you talking about?” Lottie asked behind her. Jet whirled around.

“I told Alayna I would come home someday. That doesn’t mean I wanted the place demolished!”

“Alayna did this?”

“Of course she didn’t fucking do this! I’m talking to-” Jet paused as she found herself pointing to the slightly discolored part of the horizon. Lottie followed her gaze.

“I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t understand. Nobody in this fucking place understands, and that’s why I’m here! To get away from the greatest mistake of my life. And now I’ve brought destruction on everyone.”

“Jet, you need to lie down,” Lottie said gently. Jet was reminded of her and Grace in Lottie’s garage, and her heart broke. Lottie reserved that tender tone for people like her. Jet was not like them.”

“I can’t-”

“There’s a lot of rads over there,” Cannon’s voice said from around the corner. Jet turned to see Whisper directly behind her. Instead of yelling, she hugged him, relief flooding her body. He stiffly allowed her for a moment before gently placing his hands on her waist. Cannon finally made it to them.

“I need Radway, Doc. Whisper as well. It looks like someone used a FatMan, and I didn’t have any of those in stock.”

“Inside, Cannon,” Lottie replied, watching Jet, who finally released Whisper. Cannon went inside as tears fell from Jet’s face.

“I wasn’t done,” she croaked. Whisper nodded.

“I understand. We have to get to headquarters. Desdemona will want to know why we’ve gone silent.”

“We can, after we bury our friends.” Jet wiped her nose. “What?”

“I found tracks leading to the city,” Whisper said. “Someone tried to kill us all, and didn’t realize there were survivors. It should remain that way.”

“Okay,” Jet shrugged. “I agree.”

“The dead cannot bury the dead,” Whisper said. Jet looked at the uncomfortable faces of the synths.

“You’re shitting me. You’re fucking shitting me.”

“He’s correct,” Lottie spoke up. 

“I don’t care!” Jet snapped. “Grace?”

“It feels wrong,” Grace agreed, looking green. Jet pointed at Grace.

“See?”

“We cannot,” Whisper said patiently. “The dead-”

“I don’t fucking care!” Jet fumed. “Those were my friends! Any one of them would be burying you if you had died!”

“Jet! We can’t be arguing right now!” Cannon grabbed her shoulders. “We have to go! Now! We’re all hurt and angry and injured, but pull yourself the fuck together!”

“Get off of me!” Jet yanked away and stormed off. The rest silently gathered things they managed to save and followed.


	8. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desdemona scrounges up a contact once they arrive and get her caught up.. Jet happens to know this Mark, and once everyone is recovered, pays him a visit. She calms down during her recovery.

HQ was home for the next few weeks while Desdemona scrambled for answers. The only one really able to travel was Whisper, and he refused to leave Cannon behind. Jet’s wounds healed fairly well, despite getting a heaping dose of radiation. The agent known as Drummer Boy made a joke about her being a ghoul at heart, but she barely heard it. She was busy thinking about the bodies of her friends, lying in the open. By now they would be pecked clean, too rancid for most scavengers. She no longer wanted to bury them.

Tuesday was the day Desdemona came back with a plan. Three weeks after the incident, and Grace was still sick, eating Radway like candy. This was psychosomatic. Synths didn’t get radiation poisoning. She gave Jet an encouraging smile. A weak smile, but encouraging, nonetheless. Jet patted her hand as Desdemona began speaking to her.

“I’ve got a contact in Goodneighbor,” she said, lighting a cigarette. Jet suddenly wanted one. “He goes by the name of Daddy-o. I have no idea why. He’s a ghoul that hangs out at the Third Rail. He’ll meet you and Whisper, since you two are the only ones capable of walking in a straight line. There’s word about someone calling themselves ‘The Immortal’ trying to recruit ghouls, even approaching some of our agents. He knows a few of us by name.”

“Yep,” Jet said, grabbing an empty backpack. “Easy enough. Let’s go.” she avoided Whisper’s gaze as she began packing. Desdemona either didn’t notice, or chose to ignore what Jet was doing. She continued talking.

“Come back as soon as you have his report. We’ll need to form a plan immediately, and find out how much the ‘Immortal’ actually knows.”

Jet had come across some strange synths in her time. Some were chatty, some were stoic. But Whisper was a whole other breed. The man seemed to be made out of silence. Rocks he kicked didn’t seem to make a sound as they rolled. He chewed quietly. Jet never heard the man so much as fart loudly. The only time sound ever came from him, was when he was speaking in that flat tone that unnerved nearly everyone he came across.

He finally broke the silence when Jet sighed for the twelfth time. 

“A mutant hound can hear breathing from half a mile away if unobstructed.”

“Bullshit.”

“She speaks.”

“Fuck off.”

“Eloquently, I might add.”

“Just leave me alone. Don’t talk to me unless i’m about to get my head blown off.”

Whisper’s expression never changed, which infuriated Jet. His face never deviated from the neutral expression, nor did he speak. Not even when raiders ambushed them. She called out to see where he was, but he appeared next to her, never speaking.

She got the hint.

Goodneighbor smelled like piss as always. Trashed lined the streets, but that was the entire Commonwealth. One big trash pile, though Goodneighbor was the trashiest trash pile. The two of them found Daddy-o with relative ease. He had a sign.

“Marowski must love you,” Jet remarked, sliding into the seat next to the ghoul. Daddy-o was unruffled.

“Hey, you know me. Loved by everyone.Howya been, girlie?”

“Same shit as always. Can’t tell you. But you got shit to tell me, I hear?”

“Yeah. Let’s converse.” He turned towards her. Jet noticed when she checked the place out for eavesdroppers that Whisper was nowhere to be seen. She sighed inwardly and turned back to ghoul.

“Alright, go on.”

“It’s like this,” he steepled his fingers, leaning his elbows on his knees. “There’s been word going out to...certain ghouls...that there’s a recruitment opportunity. I didn’t answer the call,” he said quickly, waving his hands, “but I can point you to the man who approached me. Lives here, actually. Mark Palmer, pre-war ghoul. Likes to wear this stupid tropical shirt. Said he was a tourist when the bombs fell.”

“Wait… Mark Palmer? I know that guy.” Jet’s brow furrowed. “But he isn’t a pre-war ghoul. He’s human.”

“Maybe he turned, maybe your friend is a descendant,” he waved his hand. “I don’t know. All I know is, he wanted me to join his group, didn’t say the name, just asked if I wanted to help ghouls take their rightful place at the top. Got kinda pissy when I said something about super mutants.”

“So he’s still here? Same place?”

“Rex Motel? Yeah. I would tread carefully. Guy’s a nutjob. What happened to being neighborly?”

“Thanks, I guess I’ll head over there and see what the bastard has planned.” she sighed and stood up, stretching. Whisper appeared by her side as soon as she exited the bar. He said nothing, which irked her.

“Jesus, say something. What did you think of this Mark guy?”

Whisper let out a short laugh through his nose. “Someone is lying. That man can’t be both pre-war, and your old friend. So either he is a descendant, like that man said, or your friend turned and is a liar.”

“Anything else?”

“I won’t be visible.”

“Are you ever?” she asked as she pushed open the doors of the Rex Motel. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but she was able to slip upstairs and knock on the door Mark usually frequented. She heard the creak of footsteps and balked when the door opened.

“Heya, Jet!” the ghoul, wearing a tourist’s shirt, shorts, and sandals(what in the hell?) leaned over and hugged her.

“Come say hello to your old friend Mark!”


	9. The Ghoul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gives Jet information about The Immortal.

Early in her life, Jet had made some bad decisions. She joined a cult, dated several members from that cult, was banished from the cult, and joined a raider gang. She gambled away her life savings, and joined the Railroad as a quick way to make money. None of these were as bad of a decision as Mark.

So when Mark opened that door with that shit-eating grin on his face, Jet’s lip curled in disgust. The tourist outfit he was wearing clashed with the now-scabby skin all over his body. He leaned in for a hug, and she recoiled. He snorted.

“Fine. I didn’t want a hug from your ass anyways.”

“I have questions for you” she said bluntly. She wanted to get this over with ASAP. Sooner than ASAP. Ten minutes ago-SAP. His head cocked slightly.

“How did you even find me? I haven’t told hardly anyone where I am.”

“Can I come in or not?”

“Yeah yeah, sure.” He stepped aside so she could slip in. She felt a small brush of air against her arm as what she assumed was Whisper sliding in behind her. She sat in the nearest chair, shabby with age, and crossed her arms.

“The Immortal.”

Mark froze while closing the door. It slipped from his hand and closed with a tentative click. He turned to her slowly.

“How do you know about him?”

“I can’t tell you that. Just know that I need to know.”

Mark scratched his arm. “There’s not much to tell. Jet, I gotta know how you know about him.”

She shifted in her chair, clasping her hands in front of her and leaning on her knees. “I need to know because he tried to kill me.”

Mark looked around, as if someone would appear out of thin air and clobber him. He pulled a wooden chair away from the wall. The scraping sound hurt her teeth, but her expression didn’t change he sat across from her and leaned forward as well.

“Listen, I’ll tell you what I can, but Jet, these guys are dangerous.” he scratched his arm again, looking down. “They tried to recruit me after my...mishap.”

“You mean…?”

“Hey, you remember how pretty I used to be,” he chuckled. “Blonde hair, square jaw-”

“You had brown hair and a round face. Come on, Mark Get to it. I’m on a time limit.”

Once again,Mark scratched his arm. “I had a run-in with the children of Atom. They decided to try to sacrifice me to Atom, and dumped me in a vat of waste. Came out looking like this.”

She cringed. “Forced division.”

“Yeah, weren’t you in that little group? Never figured you for a rad eater, Jet.”

Jet rubbed the back of her neck. “That was a long time ago. You know I was just a kid.” She felt a blush creep up her neck. After her older brother had died, Jet needed a home. Barely seventeen, she was found by a wandering preacher and brought back to the fold. She drank the toxic sludge they gave her without hesitation. Mistake number one.

Mark shrugged. “Anyways, they decided I had unfinished business and let me go. Didn’t take long for some guy to sit me down and tell me about this Immortal.” he rubbed his now sore arm. “Basically, the guy wants the whole wasteland to be ghouls. Thinks ghouls are the future. Well, if anything, I can’t say he’s wrong.”

Jet’s face showed her apprehension. “How’s that?”

“Well, eventually humans will die out. Then what’s left? Nobody but us ghouls.”

“Mark, you sound like you..agree.”

He shrugged. “Agree is a strong word. I can see where he’s coming from, but,” he leaned forward after looking around again. “What I can’t see, is why he wants to gather us up like we’re some sort of cult. There’s a big meeting in a few months. I got invited. Concord. It’s all I got for you.”

The two of them leaned back, with Jet pondering the information. Concord was a ways away. If she could just get a small team together…

She stood up and shook Mark’s hand. “Thanks. I know what you risked by giving us this information.”

“No problem.” His hand was unpleasant in hers, like gripping a slab of skinned brahmin. “If I think of anything else, I’ll contact you.”

Whisper met her outside the hotel. She knew he had been in the room, and had heard everything. He looked around briefly before speaking.

“Cannon and Glory would do well for this,” he said. Jet shook her head.

“No, we need someone stealthy. You and…” she trailed off as they opened the gate to leave the small settlement.

“Does something feel off to you?”

“Yes.”

The door slammed shut behind them as Jet accidentally let it slip through her fingers. They walked forward. Nothing happened. It was an eerily quiet trek back to the church, where the Railroad headquarters were. Whisper suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her behind a building. He covered her mouth to muffle her yelp of protest.

Then she saw it. Bodies. Footprints of blood led away from the church. A few of the members had tried to crawl out, only to be shot point blank in the head. She felt Whisper’s chest heaving as he breathed, his grip tightening against her mouth. She tapped on his arm to let him know he was hurting her. It took a few seconds, but he let go. She held her mouth, her skin white where his hand had gripped.

“Who the fuck...who did this?!”

Whisper was already walking. He stepped over rubble, bodies, and garbage, striding in as if he didn’t see them. Jet followed, her gun out.

“Their bodies are cold,” he said nonchalantly. “There’s no one here to harm us.”

Jet wasn’t so sure. She kept her gun out, up until she saw the main room empty. A few splatters of blood here and there, but it seemed that those who were at the entrance were merely anicking. This was not the bulk of the Railroad.

Whisper stood in the center of the room, still and silent. His hands were folded in front of his body, and if it weren’t for his breathing, he could have been a very lifelike mannequin. After a moment, he spoke.

“They left, in a hurry,” he said plainly. “One of our enemies came after us. Since there are no second generation synths around, my guess would be the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“So where are they?” Jet picked around one of tinker Tom’s smashed up radios “what are we even supposed to do?”

“Check the tunnels. See if they were caught up to. Then we hide out.”


	10. Chapter Ten: The Bird Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet and Whisper find a safehouse.

Whisper didn’t speak much as they combed the tunnels. Jet knew he was looking for Cannon’s body, and knew he was relieved when he didn’t find it. His shoulders slackened just the tiniest bit, then tensed back up with resolve.

“We have some time before the meeting,” he said plainly. “Which means we have time to plan.”

“Well, we can’t stay here,” Jet pointed out. The water soaked into her boots and made them squishy. She wasn’t looking forward to the wrinkly mess she would have when she took them off. “I might have a place to stay, but I’m not sure she’ll let you stay.”

“I’m fully capable of finding a safe spot, but if it is closer to you, then we may as well seek this woman out. If luck wills it, we will have refuge together.”

“Going soft on me?”

“We can’t plan if we are apart.”

“Shut up, you’re right.” Jet stepped out of the filthy sewer water and shook her boots free of water. She hoped the squish inside was her sock. “Best not discuss it until we are close to her. Just follow me.”

\--------

The Commonwealth was a cruel place. Spots of beauty were rare to find, and Jet found Alayna’s home such a spot. The dark-skinned woman had cultivated a garden on top of the old skyscraper, blocking the front and rigging a secret entrance. Of course, each time she left, she risked having someone find her pulley that she used. So she rarely left.

There was no room for flowers, a luxury that no longer existed in this tattered world, but the crops she grew were carefully stored and used for flours and stews that would go long ways. She dried meats and stored disgustingly preserved pre-war food for emergencies, eating the sullied meats and cereals with disdain. Jet thought she was the smartest woman in the world.

Whisper, not so much, which irked Jet to no end. He kept pointing out defense flaws, and chastised her for no robots to help her ward off enemies. She snorted.

“And draw attention to myself with a small army?”

“It wouldn’t need to be an army,” he argued. “Just one or two. And you really shouldn’t live by yourself.”

“And you want me to let him stay, why?” Alayna asked Jet, who was massaging her temples.

“Because, our friends were taken, or scattered after the attack. I’m not sure yet. But we need to come up with a plan before this meeting happens.”

“That I agree with.” She sat at a table that was wiped clean. The entire floor she was on was cleaned to the best of her ability. Trash had been tossed out the window, broken furniture had been repurposed into kindling or used to block entrances. Old lamps were stripped for parts, and any picture frames that had clear pictures were set up on small tables. She had an area in her kitchen for grinding and cutting vegetables. Jet remembered that she never killed anything larger than what she could carry back already field-dressed.

“I think,” Alayna said, resting her chin on her fist and her elbow on the table, “That it’s best to ask the Minutemen for help. They have a new General, who seems very capable.”

“Yeah, but she’s always on the move,” Jet reminded her. “And we’ve only seen her once.”

“But having the place so close to her original settlement will surely piss her off,” Alayna said. Jet shrugged. 

“Maybe.”

“We ask them for help, then we stop the meeting,” Whisper said. “Strike from the shadows.”

“That might work too,” Jet said. 

“That would scare them off, though,” Alayna shook her head, leaning back.

“Isn’t that the point?” Jet raised a brow. Alayna shook her head

“No, we want to stop them completely. They would just find a new meeting place, and probably not even make it as well known. That would make our jobs harder.”

“Our, hmm?” Jet let herself smirk. “So you’re in on this, too?”

“Of course. You’ll just fuck it up.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Can we stop fighting?” Whisper suggested calmly. Alayna and Jet burst into laughter.

“You’re not one for teasing, are you?” Alayna snickered. Whisper let out a small sigh and looked out the window. His brow creased when he saw one of Alayna’s birds at the window, listening and watching intently. He said nothing and stood up.

“I would like a room, preferably one with no windows.”

“Go find one. We should probably eat and get to bed.” 

Jet’s stomach growled when she heard Alayna mention eating. When they lived together, they rarely went hungry, and the few times they did, the two of them had had a hard time finding anything worth eating for a few days. Jet learned from Alayna to always be prepared. Jet wasn’t the best at being prepared. 

Whisper departed without saying a word, the bird following his movements with jerky motions. Alayna stood up and opened a cabinet in the small kitchen. She pulled a bread box out and grabbed a handful of dried meat, and sat back down with Jet.

“You stink.” She handed Jet a few large pieces. Jet devoured them quickly, chewing with her mouth open.

“Fwu you.” She swallowed. “Fuck you.”

Alayna tore a piece off with her hand and popped it into her mouth. “Not with that smell. You know where the washing station is.” 

Jet kicked off her boots(thankfully the only thing in her boot was her still-soaked sock) and tossed her socks next to them. Barefoot, she walked to the bathroom, shedding clothes along the way. She arrived nude at the small room, finally feeling the air on her bare skin. Her clothes were filthy and caked with blood and dirt and ash. Her hair was grimy and pressed against her scalp. Smears of dirt were spread across her arms and face. 

There was a bucket that Aayna used to clean herself with. The wash rag was in the same spot as before, on the sink. Jet kneeled after grabbing a small carton of clean water and a bar of soap and washed herself from head to toe, scrubbing until the only spots on her were the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. The tattoos that resembled circular fingerprints, usually covered by her clothing, dotted her spine. As clean as she could manage, she stood up and dried herself off. Alayna watched her from the doorway.

“I’ve missed you,” she said softly. Jet turned around and half-smiled.

“I missed you too. She crossed the tiny room and ran her fingers up Alayna’s arm. The woman pulled Jet to her, closing the distance abruptly with a kiss. Jet returned with equal fervor, wrapping her arms around Alayna’s waist. Alayna gasped when Jet began kissing her neck.

“You don’t stink anymore,” she panted. “Let’s go to bed.”

“I don’t think I can wait,” Jet growled. “Let him hear.” She sunk to her knees as the two of them fumbled with Alayna’s buttons. Alayna got one pant leg off before Jet began kissing her stomach, one hand gripping her hip, and the other teasing the fleshy folds. Alayna’s mouth opened, her head leaning back.

“Please, let me do you too.”

“Not yet.” Jet parted Alayna with her tongue and found her clit. Alayna let out a small squeak of pleasure before biting her knuckles.

“Fuck! It’s been way too long.” She opened her legs to allow Jet in more. Jet slid her fingers inside and curled her fingers, angling them in a way she knew Alayna loved. In and out, feeling Alayna’s muscles contract as Jet brought her closer to climax.

“Fuck,” Alayna whimpered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She leaned down and tried to kiss Jet, who met her halfway. Jet pulled her down to her knees, and scooted closer.

“Do me,” She breathed heavily. “I want to cum with you.”

Alayna slid her fingers into Jet, wiggling them rapidly. The two of them leaned against each other, kissing each others necks and mouths until their mouths were dry. Jet fet herself nearing the end.

“I’m…” she tensed up.

“Me too!” Alayna whimpered. They came nearly at the same time. Jet’s hand cramped, and she pulled it out, but Alayna wasn’t finished with her. She pushed the redhead on her back and continued, sliding her fingers in and out with urgency.

“Cum again,” sweat beaded her forehead. Jet let out a moan louder than what was safe.

“I’m cumming! Fuck!” She cried out as her muscles spasmed. Her arms and legs went limp as she laid there, spread eagle on the bathroom floor. Alayna laid next to her, resting her head on her arm. The two women laid there for a while, gently stroking each others stomachs and shoulders as they talked.


End file.
